It turns out that I don’t hate to run; I hate THE GYM. I love doing yoga, and I love going walking, but to make a long story short felt certain that I was not going to ever be able to become one of the Runner People.
This really does get easier to say with time: I was wrong. I love feeling stronger and quicker, I love overcoming mental and physical challenges, I love how running has made me look, I love it when the little kids in my neighborhood started running after me to “catch the fast lady”, or the day last week when I arrived at race pace in front of a dance studio spilling out toddler ballerinas. Some moms made a hole through the cloud of pink tutus and all was well.
This morning was my first race in [a REALLY long while]. I still don’t know my time, as my watch stopped clocking at some point along the way, and I am completely sore, but had a great time wearing myself out in the sickeningly high heat and humidity. That nasty combo plus little sleep seemed to indicate I had a race result much slower than my last training runs, but it turns out I don’t care about that so much. Approaching a finish line in Central Park with a very enthusiastic announcer turned out to be very exciting. Crossing was even better.
All of my other friends who are Runner People are preparing for either of the upcoming half-or full NYC marathons, so I’m in no danger of developing an inflated sense of athleticism (not that they are ego-maniacs, just much more experienced at this than I am!) That also prompted my circumspect lead-in to this event, because I’m still trying to work up to some distance and get into a good regular running groove, for which this race was an excellent early goal-post. Another new beginning.
Now I need an appropriate soundtrack for what comes next, but I really am about to ice pretty much the entire lower half of my body. How cinematic.
By the way? Clif Bars = disgusting. Just in case you were curious as to my feelings on that matter.